Everything at Fringe sounds good to Frank as he takes in jazz, soul, and gospel

In what could be called a
collision of two fringes -- those being sound and motion -- I watched “On Tap” Friday night at the Sproull Atrium, where dancers interpreted music and
musicians interpreted dance. This is a fairly common practice, even in the
heads of those who are completely unaware they’re doing it even when they, for
example, use colors to describe sound or visa versa.

The best piece by far was
the first, where minimalist jazz converged with the rhythmic steps of a tap
dancer. Other pieces touched upon the operatic, with dancers prancing about the
space offering little in the way of deciphering the music, but rather
compounding the beautiful obscurity.

Later that night and across
the street The Campbell Brothers
painted the Eastman Theatre with the crowd’s brains. The band rocked ferociously with its blend of
sacred intentions and a badass, locomotive drive. The whole performance lasted
around 45 minutes and was one giant crescendo, one giant ovation.

This is not an act you want
to follow, yet The
Harlem Gospel Choir stepped up and took a swing. The sound was an angelic
cacophony, an impressive wall of voices supported by just keyboards and drums.
The highlight for me was when they came out from behind their mics and positively belted sans amplification.
It was infectious and beautiful.

This was my first foray into
the Fringe Festival, and I have to say it’s pretty cool, especially the fact
that a lot of people were walking around without a clear sense of what it is or
how to take it, ultimately customizing it to their own specifications and
varying levels artistic appreciation. As it takes shape, I hope this festival
maintains this certain degree of vague ambiguity. Rochester needs more of this.